


a little bit of spine

by KelseyO



Category: Glee, Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, Fabrastings - Freeform, Skank!Quinn, rated M for language and eventual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aria drags Spencer to see an all-girl punk band called The Skanks, she has no idea she'll pique the interest of their pink-haired guitarist, nor that her night will spiral so spectacularly. Three-part fic inspired by a friend's tweet: "Sometimes the guitarist in an all girl punk band gives you her neon sunglasses and then you call the night a success." Spencer/skank!Quinn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my Pretty Much Completely Accidental fic that was supposed to be a oneshot based on a friend's tweet ("Sometimes the guitarist in an all girl punk band gives you her neon sunglasses and then you call the night a success") but then spiraled into something completely different, because Fabrastings rarely ever behaves. This will have three parts, all of them already finished; I'll post one each night, or every other night, depending on feedback/demand.
> 
> Slightly AU, as Spencer is not dating Toby and there's no mention of -A (and Quinn isn't clinically depressed), but there are multiple references to season four.
> 
> This was tons of fun to write, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. Title from "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy, though "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett and "Sex" by The 1975 are far more relevant. Ahem.

“Tell me again what Hanna and Emily said they had going on tonight?”

Aria rolls her eyes as she continues looking for an open parking space. “Em’s taking her dad to a movie, and Hanna’s going to some book signing for one of those crime novels she read.” She makes a U-turn at the end of the row and moves on to the next one. “But even if they had been free, I think this’ll be good for you.”

“Good for me?”

She shrugs. “You know. To get out and do something fun.”

Spencer crosses her arms over her chest. “You think I don’t get out enough?”

“No, no, of course not. I just—ooh, there’s one!” she announces, then pulls sharply into the smallest nook Spencer’s ever seen, tucked behind a Hummer that’s about twice the size of Aria’s sedan.

“Feel free to finish that sentence any time,” Spencer grumbles as they unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car.

Aria doesn’t look up from the map she has on her phone. “So if we go out that way,” she says, pointing toward one end of the parking lot, “then take a right at the Taco Bell, it should be just past the bank and the pawn shop.” She begins to lead the way, going on and on about how much she loves this band and how she never thought they’d finally play on a weekend instead of a school night.

Spencer wishes there were at least one visible police car, or maybe a few more street lights. “You realize this is how most episodes of _CSI_ start off, right?” she asks, triple-checking that her phone still has service and a good chunk of battery left. “How do you know this show is even happening? We’re probably walking right into a human trafficking recruitment scheme.”

“Y’know, I take back what I didn’t even actually say before. You _definitely_ need to get out more often.” Aria links her arm through Spencer’s and speeds them both up, and within a few minutes they’re finally in front of… well, a very small, deteriorating structure that Spencer otherwise would’ve walked right past.

She blinks at the clumsy brickwork and the front sign that’s so faded she can’t even read the name. “This is it?”

“This is it,” Aria echoes.

“You genuinely expect me to believe that there’s room for a stage in there? Aria, my _garage_ is bigger than this place.”

“Shut up and take your ticket,” she replies, handing Spencer a slip of paper and heading for the front doors, and Spencer has no choice but to follow her her inside, even though she’s genuinely afraid the building might collapse at any second. “Ooh, we’re just in time! They’re already onstage, let’s find a good spot.” Aria pulls her through the crowd of tattoos and facial piercings and multicolored hair, not stopping until they’re right up against one side of the stage.

“Do we really have to be this close?” Spencer mutters, but Aria’s busy watching the band prepare their equipment as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. Spencer rolls her eyes and crosses her arms again, and it takes her several moments to realize the guitarist is looking at her.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?” she guesses as she tunes the strings, the tendons in her wrist straining beneath a small tattoo that Spencer can’t quite make out, and her silver nose ring glints beneath the merciless stage lights.

Spencer just stares back at first, because this girl probably smokes a pack a day and could murder her in a back alley if she really wanted to, but even as she takes in the wild pink hair and ratty-black-t-shirt-turned-tank-top, she finds it surprisingly easy to be honest. “Not particularly.”

The girl smiles playfully and reaches behind an amp, then tosses something to Spencer, and she catches it out of reflex before she realizes it’s a pair of neon pink sunglasses.

“So you can roll your eyes all night without anyone noticing,” she explains, then takes a sip from her water bottle, and Spencer swallows hard. “But here’s hoping you won’t need them.” She starts strumming her guitar in a steady rhythm and cheers fill the room, and Spencer forgets to be irritated that they’re standing this close to the speakers.

The lead singer, sporting long, deep blue hair and a frayed denim vest, steps up to the microphone. “We’re The Skanks,” she calls out to the crowd, “and we hope you’re ready to party.”

The room explodes with sound as the first song begins, and Spencer unfolds the sunglasses and sets them on her forehead.

(Readily accessible, just in case.)

.

By the end of the show she’s discovered that the guitarist’s name is Quinn, and that she doesn’t mind loud music nearly as much as she thought, and that she might definitely have a thing for sleeveless shirts. She should know this already, given that Alex always wore them at the country club and that they’re basically Toby’s entire construction wardrobe, but… here, tonight, it feels like a revelation.

“I’ll be right back,” Aria tosses over her shoulder when she spots the singer talking to some fans by the bar, leaving Spencer alone to—

“You know they’re supposed to go _over_ your eyes, right?”

She whips around to find Quinn leaning against the stage, lips curled into half of a smirk as she pushes hair out of her face, both her skin and the pink locks damp from sweat. Spencer’s hand flies up to her face, and when her fingers hit plastic, she realizes she completely forgot she was even wearing the sunglasses. She snatches them off her head, folds them up, and holds them out for Quinn to take. “Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

“Keep ‘em,” Quinn says, twisting open a bottle of some bright red energy drink Spencer’s never heard of. “They look hotter on you anyway.” She takes several gulps of the drink and Spencer is so focused on the movements of her throat that it takes a beat for the words to sink in.

“Wait, what?”

She’s not sure if any sound even made it out of her throat, because Quinn doesn’t respond. “What’s your name?”

“Spencer,” she answers without thinking, and wonders why it didn’t even occur to her to lie.

“You busy?”

“I—um—” Spencer glances toward the bar, but Aria has vanished. “Can you just… hang on a second?” she manages, then pulls out her cell phone and calls her first speed dial. “Where the hell are you?” she demands as soon as Aria picks up. “You didn’t actually get sucked into a human trafficking ring, did you?”

“Oh my god, Spence, _relax_ ,” she replies, and Spencer can practically hear the eye roll. “I’m safe and sound in my car. I’m even going the speed limit right now, you should be proud.”

Spencer frowns. “What are you talking about? Did you leave without me?”

“Of course I did.”

She blinks. “ _Why_?”

“Are you kidding me? You spend the entire show openly staring at that guitarist. I assumed you would want to hang out with her after the show.”

“Aria, that’s—that’s completely—”

“Don’t even worry about it,” she interrupts, “I already texted Hanna explaining everything, and if anyone asks, we both spent the night at her place. Call us if you need a ride back. Love you!”

The line goes dead and Spencer stares at the screen in disbelief, wondering why she ever bothers trying to be friends with writers; all they ever do is romanticize, see fantastical potential narratives that aren’t even there—

“Everything okay?”

Her eyes snap back to Quinn, who’s now sitting on the edge of the stage. “Yeah, everything’s—um. My ride left without me, so that’s… great.”

“Sucks,” Quinn agrees, taking another sip of her drink.

She takes a deep breath, and her heartbeat is going kind of crazy, for some reason. “But I guess that means I’m not busy,” she manages, fiddling with the sunglasses, and when she dares to look at Quinn again, the smirk is full-blown.

“C’mere,” she says, jerking her head back a little, and there are some really weird things going on in Spencer’s throat.

She looks around to find the room mostly empty, just the staff gathering empty bottles and cans, and she’s running out of reasons why she shouldn’t follow these instructions. She swallows hard and forces her feet to move, and then the distance between her and Quinn is much smaller.

When Quinn moves her legs apart just a little, Spencer’s entire cardiovascular system nearly shuts down. She finds herself stepping even closer, until she’s standing in between Quinn’s knees, and she’s kind of shocked that she can’t smell any cigarette smoke on her clothes.

Quinn reaches down to Spencer’s hand and takes the sunglasses, then unfolds them and slowly slides them onto Spencer’s face, until the bridge rests firmly on Spencer’s nose and her world is about twice as dark as it was a second ago. Suddenly she’s thinking about what it might be like to kiss Quinn in the dark; a bedroom with no lights on, maybe, or even just a really well-ventilated closet—

And then it’s… well, _happening_. Quinn connects her lips with Spencer’s, and she can’t decide if she’s more surprised about that or the fact that she finds herself kissing back. The moment tastes like artificial cherry flavoring, which only gets stronger during the third (or maybe tenth?) kiss, when Quinn’s tongue slips into her mouth and does this _thing_ that has Spencer melting against her.

“I never do this,” she mumbles against Quinn’s lips.

Quinn chuckles into the next kiss. “What is it that you’re doing?”

Spencer’s hands are on Quinn’s hips now, apparently. “Making out with a complete stranger.” Hands slip into her back pockets and her mouth falls open a little. “I don’t know anything about you,” she breathes.

“Well,” Quinn murmurs between kisses along her throat, “if it makes you feel any better, I _promise_ I’m not involved in human trafficking.”

“Oh god,” Spencer groans, probably just in response to Quinn’s words, but also maybe because of Quinn’s teeth against her skin. “You heard that?”

Quinn laughs again. “Little bit.”

“If you kids don’t leave within the next ten minutes, you’re spending the night in here,” someone shouts from the other side of the room. “We need to lock up.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Quinn calls back sweetly, then gently tilts Spencer’s sunglasses up so they’re resting on her head again. “So, what’s your alibi for tonight?”

Spencer licks her lips and they still taste like fake cherry. “What makes you think I need an alibi?”

Quinn arches an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type who can casually tell your parents you’re not gonna be home by curfew because you’re hooking up with a girl in a punk band.”

“Alright, fine,” Spencer surrenders, because Quinn’s hands are still in her back pockets and she doesn’t have the mental capacity for a witty comeback. “Sleepover at a friend’s house.”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitches. “So you’re covered until tomorrow morning, then.”

Chills shoot down Spencer’s spine and she clears her throat. “You busy?”

“ _Wow_ , that was smooth,” Quinn replies with a playful, only slightly mocking smile. She slips off the stage so she’s on her feet again, and for a split second they’re so close together that Spencer can barely breathe; finally Quinn removes herself from Spencer’s pockets and takes her hand instead. “Let’s get out of here,” she says, walking backwards as she pulls Spencer toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

Quinn shrugs. “As long as I’m not luring you into a human trafficking ring, does it really matter?”

Spencer finds she can’t really argue with that.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seldom write femslash, except for when I do. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.

Quinn calls a cab, because apparently there aren’t any bus routes that go close enough to her place, and when the car pulls up to the curb, she gestures for Spencer to climb in first.

For a split second she wonders again if she’s really doing this, if she’s really going to get in this car with this girl whose last name she doesn’t even know, but then it’s like Quinn knows exactly what she’s thinking and there’s a mouth right next to her ear.

“Trust me,” she purrs, her breath hot against Spencer’s cheek, and that convinces Spencer’s legs to bend so she can finally get in the backseat. Quinn follows suit and hands the driver a couple of folded-up bills. “My place, Andy,” she instructs. “If you get us there in twenty minutes, you can keep the change.”

“You got it,” he replies without turning around, or even glancing in the rearview, and then they’re on their way.

Spencer’s eyes stay glued to the window at first, looking at all of the buildings, at the people walking around under the streetlights, until gentle fingertips turn her head and a familiar set of lips presses against hers once more. She sighs into Quinn’s mouth, but then pulls away for a moment. “What about…?” she whispers, glancing toward the driver’s seat.

“Don’t worry about him,” Quinn assures her. “Eyes on the road, right Andy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers without missing a beat.

Spencer is halfway through a nod when a hot mouth closes around her earlobe, then works its way down to her jaw and along her chin. Her eyelids droop closed and she blindly reaches out to grab something for support; what her hand finds feels a lot like Quinn’s thigh, and a soft giggle against the corner of her mouth confirms her suspicions. She automatically turns her head to capture those lips with hers again, and if she’s being honest, she can’t remember the last time she got this worked up without having removed a single item of clothing.

“So, is this the cab you use to take all the girls home?” she asks, and she might actually be panting a little bit at this point.

There’s a quiet chuckle against her throat. “Is that one of your theories? That I sleep with someone after every show?”

Now Spencer feels like she completely fucked up. “Okay, I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” she starts, but then Quinn bites her lip, and Spencer can’t breathe.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you’re the first?”

Spencer swallows hard. “Why me?”

Quinn pulls back a little and gives Spencer this _look_ that makes her feel like… she’s not even sure, doesn’t have the words, but there are fireworks going off in her stomach, and she kind of wants to ask Andy how much further they have to drive.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Spencer just stares at her. “What? I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” Quinn interrupts, and then her lips are on Spencer’s again, and Spencer thinks her hand might be a little higher on Quinn’s thigh now.

She wrenches her mouth away for a beat. “You don’t even know what I was going to—”

“Spencer,” she says, cutting her off again and trying to suppress another smirk. “Shut _up_.”

And then Quinn’s mouth is everywhere again, and Spencer doesn’t have any more questions.

.

When they get out of the car, one of Spencer’s first thoughts is that Quinn’s brought her to an empty lot to kill her, but as her eyes adjust to the darkness, she finally realizes there’s a tiny, one-story house sitting on the other side of a small front yard.

“This is where you live?” she asks, and she might’ve meant to keep that in her head, but Quinn just laughs.

“You sound surprised,” she says, taking Spencer’s hand and leading her up a dirt path that brings them to the front door. “Not what you expected?”

Spencer shrugs. “I think I’m just gonna stop trying to have theories about you,” she murmurs, tipping her head back so she can look at all of the stars spread out in the sky. “None of them seem to pan out.”

“Yeah?” Quinn pauses her efforts to unlock the door. “Like what?”

She bites her lip. “That you live in some dingy apartment near that venue.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“And you smoke constantly.”

“Cigarettes are gross. What else?”

Spencer hesitates. “And you could probably kill me if you really wanted to?”

Quinn’s laugh is loud and uncontrolled and seems to catch her off-guard. “And you thought I had sex all the time… Which means you probably think I kill everyone I bring home.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Spencer says with a shrug, her tone sheepish. “I accuse a lot of people of murder.”

She thinks for a moment. “I mean… it’s entirely plausible, ‘cause there is a _lot_ of space in the backyard to bury bodies, and it’s isolated enough that no one would hear any screams…” Now she waits a beat before glancing at Spencer with a playful smile.

“So. Any regrets so far?”

Spencer sighs and pretends to consider the question as she studies Quinn’s wrist again, but there’s still not enough light for her to make out the tattoo. “Only that I didn’t tell my parents that I loved them before I left the house.”

Quinn finally unlocks the door and pushes it open. “Oh well…” She must see the genuine panic that flickers across Spencer’s face, because she’s laughing again. “Get in here, you idiot,” she says, pulling Spencer over the threshold, closing the door behind them, and flipping on the lights.

“Wow, this is a nice—”

The end of her sentence gets swallowed by a deep kiss, but apparently they’re still moving, and Spencer tries not to trip over her own feet.

“This is the living room,” Quinn mumbles, never letting their mouths separate more than an inch, and they stumble through another doorway. “The kitchen, the bathroom, et cetera.” They walk another few yards and she reaches behind Spencer, and another door opens. “And this is my bedroom,” she announces, sounding just as out of breath as Spencer feels. “Thus concludes the tour.”

A laugh sneaks out of Spencer’s throat. “ _Wow_ , that was smooth.”

“Okay, you are _not_ allowed to mock me when your tongue is down my throat.” Her hands are in Spencer’s back pockets again, and this time they’re pulling her hips against Quinn’s, and she’s not sure if she’s ever heard this particular noise come out of her mouth.

“I suppose that’s fair,” she manages. “But also, we need to sit down, like, as soon as possible.”

Quinn starts guiding her backwards. “Bed.”

When Spencer’s legs meet the edge of the bedframe, she eases herself down onto the mattress and scoots back until her head hits a pillow, and then Quinn is hovering over her, and Spencer should probably buy Aria a thank-you card for bringing her to that show; hell, she should probably buy cards for Hanna and Emily as well, for being too busy to—

Quinn’s tongue is sliding against Spencer’s and her hands have left their pockets in favor of slipping inside Spencer’s shirt, ghosting up Spencer’s bare abdomen and back down her sides. It makes Spencer arch against her, and decide that she’d _really_ like to touch Quinn like that, but it takes a few moments for her to put the words together.

“What if we just—?” she starts, but then gives up on the rest of the question and grabs the hem of Quinn’s shirt and pulls. Quinn automatically leans back and lifts her arms until the shirt is off and flung to the floor somewhere, and Spencer’s hands are all over Quinn’s back now, tracing her spine and the curves of her shoulder blades, and the sensations beneath her fingertips are so overwhelming that she’s completely lost track of Quinn’s mouth.

Oh, but there it is, kissing and licking and biting a path from just above the waist of Spencer’s jeans to just below her bra, but now her shirt is bunched up at her chest and Quinn can’t go any further. They both seem to have the same thoughts about how inefficient this is and sit up in unison; the shirt is gone before she can take another breath, and now it’s skin against _so much fucking skin_ , and it’s kind of funny that this is such a big deal to her because she’s been naked with Toby before, but for some reason being half as bare with Quinn does twice as much to the lower half of her body.

She doesn’t realized she’s laughed out loud until Quinn stops what she’s doing to raise an eyebrow at her.

“What’s so funny?” she pants.

Spencer blinks a few times, because that’s really good question, but then she remembers what just occurred to her, and she has to swallow another giggle. “I _never_ do this,” she says simply, gesturing to their bodies, then takes a deep breath in and out to steady herself and lets her fingertips dance along Quinn’s shoulder.

“What is it,” Quinn murmurs, leaning down to nip gently at Spencer’s collarbone, “that you’re doing?”

She shrugs a little. “Sleeping with a complete stranger?”

Quinn wets her lips and slowly slides Spencer’s bra strap down her shoulder. “Well,” she says quietly, “you know that I’m not involved in human trafficking, and that I live in a house twenty minutes outside the city…” She moves on to the other strap. “And that I hate the smell of cigarettes, and that I generally don’t partake in hookups or homicide.” Now her hands are down at the button of Spencer’s jeans. “And _I_ know that you don’t like punk music, and that you have strict parents…” She undoes the button and begins to play with the zipper. “And that you _never_ make out or sleep with complete strangers,” she continues, pulling the zipper down, “and that you look really, _really_ hot wearing my sunglasses.”

Then Quinn’s ear is right next to Spencer’s ear again, and goosebumps erupt along her arms.

“I hardly think we’re strangers.”

It’s at this point that Spencer decides they’ve discussed enough formalities, and she buries her fingers in Quinn’s hair and pulls her mouth against her own. Spencer’s hips lift of their own accord and Quinn somehow manages to get Spencer’s pants and bra off without breaking the kiss; the competitive part of Spencer wonders vaguely if she’d be able to do that too, but suddenly Quinn’s are already nowhere to be found and she wonders when the hell that happened.

She stops wondering when Quinn’s thigh makes itself at home between her legs, pushing and rubbing and friction and heat, unbearable heat, and just when Spencer thinks she can’t take it anymore, the thigh is gone and there are fingers underneath the cotton, inside of her, _inside of her_.

Quinn has her falling apart in no time at all, and then it’s Spencer’s turn to be on top and in between. At first she concentrates mostly on the kissing, because all she has to go on for the rest is _Orphan Black_ fanfiction and what she does for herself, and she feels like she’s climbing into the cockpit of a plane without having taken any flying lessons first.

“I’ve never done this before,” she mumbles finally, her hand stalled on Quinn’s hip.

At first it looks like Quinn might laugh, but then she registers the difference in wording and sees the genuine self-consciousness in Spencer’s eyes, and now she tucks a lock of hair behind Spencer’s ear. “Don’t stress out about this, okay? It’s not like I’m gonna kill you if you do it wrong.”

“God, I should’ve kept that theory to myself.”

Quinn shakes her head a little. “Seriously, Spence, just relax.”

The sudden tightness in Spencer’s chest has some things to say about Quinn calling her “Spence,” but then Quinn is moving Spencer’s hand off her hip and closer to her center, and the thoughts vanish. She swallows hard. “You’ll tell me whether I’m—?”

“I will keep you well-informed, I promise.”

Spencer positions herself a little further down Quinn’s body so she has a better view of what she’s doing, but even as she tentatively slides her fingertips through the wet folds and earns a small sigh in return, she gets a new idea.

Her tongue touches Quinn’s clit, and Quinn’s hips nearly buck up off the mattress.

“O-or you could do that,” Quinn manages, her fingers already digging into the sheets, and for the first time tonight, it’s Spencer who’s smirking.

She uses her tongue and lips and teeth, explores Quinn inside and out until they’re both shaking, sweaty messes, and by the time Spencer’s name floats effortlessly from Quinn’s throat, she doesn’t really think they’re strangers at all.


	3. Part Three

Spencer wakes up to blinding light hitting her face, and she groans and burrows deeper into the covers. But then she remembers that these aren’t her sheets, that this isn’t her _bed_ , and she rolls over and tries to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

By the time Quinn walks through the door holding two cups of coffee, Spencer’s still squinting against the sunlight. “Since when is there a window there?” she grumbles, drinking in the site of Quinn in an oversized black t-shirt, the collar haphazardly cut into a v-neck.

Quinn laughs and takes a sip from her mug. “I use light-block curtains so it kind of disappears at night, when the lights are off.”

“Why aren’t they blocking any light right now?” she whines, then glances at Quinn. “And why are you a morning person?”

She smirks. “Betcha didn’t see that one coming.”

Spencer groans again, curling into a ball and pulling the covers up to her chin. She hears footsteps padding around the bed, then the sound of metal sliding gently against metal, and Spencer opens her eyes to find the room pitch-dark once more. “Thank you,” she mumbles into the blankets.

“Good morning,” Quinn replies, setting the mugs on the nightstand and slipping under the blankets with her, and their legs automatically tangle together as Spencer breathes in Quinn’s scent like it’s her oxygen.

“G’morning,” she echoes softly, then presses her lips to Quinn’s and sighs. “I wish I could absorb caffeine via mouth-to-mouth.”

“I mean, you could always just drink the coffee I so generously brought you.”

Spencer tastes her again, this time pulling gently at Quinn’s bottom lip with her teeth. “I think the bigger issue here is that I can’t drink it and kiss you at the same time.”

“Life’s rough that way,” she whispers dryly to Spencer’s mouth, “but what am I gonna do with you if you don’t have any energy?”

Spencer sighs. “You’ll just have to kill me, I guess.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow and buries herself in Spencer’s neck, dragging her teeth along her pulse point, and Spencer brackets her arms tightly around Quinn’s shoulders and tips her head back to give Quinn more room.

“Quinn?” she whispers.

“Mmm,” is the response she feels, more than hears, against her throat.

“Can you pass me the coffee?”

Her shoulders sag in exasperation but Spencer definitely hears a quiet laugh; Quinn sits up to grab the mug and Spencer props herself up on her elbow, and when the coffee hits her tongue, she practically moans.

Quinn is studying her face. “You totally thought it was gonna be black coffee.”

“Did not.”

Quinn takes a sip from her own cup. “Liar,” she mutters.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Oh boy,” Quinn jokes into her next sip, “here we go.”

Spencer shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing bad. Just… why do you live in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

“You mean besides the reasons we discussed earlier?”

She nudges Quinn’s arm with her head. “I’m serious. Why would you choose paying for a cab every night over living somewhere that’s walking distance from where you play?”

Quinn shrugs. “I like not smelling cigarette smoke every time I breathe. And I like not having to interact with drunk, horny douchebags any more than necessary.” She wets her lips, and she might be holding back a smirk. “And I can be as loud as I want out here, whether it’s playing guitar, or blasting music, or having sex all night.”

Spencer swallows. “I suppose those are as good of reasons as any.”

“Basically,” Quinn continues, taking a long sip of coffee, “there is _nothing_ more punk than living in the middle of fucking nowhere.” She finishes off her mug and sets it back on the table. “Now are you ready for some light, or are we gonna stay in the middle ages a bit longer?”

“Okay, fine, but _slowly_. None of that ripping-off-the-Band-Aid bullshit.”

Quinn snorts and gets up from the bed. “I’ll be gentle, I _promise_ ,” she says, heading for the window and slowly pushing one curtain to the side, then the other, until the room is full of light again and Spencer pulls a pillow over her face.

“Oh come on, you’re not even trying.”

“I changed my mind,” she mumbles, not sure if the sound even makes it to Quinn, but then the mattress dips and a pair of legs are straddling her hips, and she peeks out from under the pillow to find Quinn giving her an amused look. Quinn reaches up to scratch the back of her neck, and for the first time, Spencer can finally read the tattoo on her wrist.

**_BETH_ **

“Ex-girlfriend?” she guesses, hoping her tone sounds as light as she intends it to.

Quinn looks confused at first. “What…?” she asks, maybe more to herself, but then her eyes follow Spencer’s and her jaw muscles clench a little. She lowers her hands to her lap and traces the name with the pad of her thumb before glancing at Spencer again. “Daughter, actually,” she says quietly.

Spencer switches positions so her head is on top of the pillow now, trying to discern whether Quinn is upset, but then Quinn smiles a little.

“Betcha didn’t see _that_ one coming.”

“I mean… no, but it’s okay.” She feels like she’s not saying it the way she wants to, and she props herself on her elbows. “Like, it doesn’t matter. If that’s something that… you’re afraid of, or whatever.”

She laughs softly and nods a few times. “Thank you.”

Now Spencer sits up all the way, gently gripping a handful of shirt above each of Quinn’s hips. “Maybe you could tell me about her, sometime.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “So, there’s gonna be a sometime?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer mumbles with shrug, and she’s having a really hard time not looking at Quinn’s mouth. “I guess. If you want.”

“Oh, it’s _my_ call?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” she nearly snaps, raking a hand through her hair and crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

Quinn’s trying to fight another smile. “What stuff?”

Spencer just holds her head in her hands and shakes it.

“Are you trying to ask me out?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she groans without looking up.

“Spencer, last night you got to know my vagina inside and out— _repeatedly_ —and you’ve spent all morning naked in my bed, and now you’re nervous about asking to see me again.”

She feels her face flush. “Yeah, that about sums it up.” She’s about to dig a hole into the mattress so she can disappear forever, but then hands are lifting her head.

“You are _such_ an idiot,” Quinn mutters before guiding Spencer’s mouth to her own, and the tongue that slides against hers has bolts of electricity shooting all the way down to her toes. “How long do your sleepovers usually last?” Quinn asks into another deep kiss.

“Um—” Spencer begins, but it’s really hard to think and speak and make out with Quinn all at once, and if something’s going to suffer, it might as well be her grasp of the English language. “Afternoon, maybe?”

Quinn breaks the kiss to slip her shirt off, and Spencer’s mouth goes dry.

“Late afternoon,” she corrects, trying to ignore the way her voice cracks. “Late, late afternoon.”

“Yeah?” Quinn replies, leaning forward until Spencer’s on her back, and _god_ , she thinks she really loves this mattress.

Spencer nods and mumbles a “Mhmm” against her lips, but then she hears her phone chime from inside her pants, wherever they are, and she pauses. “I should check that, in case it’s my mom.”

“I agree,” Quinn says as she rolls off of Spencer. “Wouldn’t want her to think you’ve been murdered by some punk musician who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

She rolls her eyes and peers over the edge of the bed, then reaches down to the floor where her phone is peeking out from under her tank top, and opens the message. “It’s from Aria. She’s asking if I need to be picked up soon.” Spencer sends her reply and tosses the phone out of arm’s reach, and it takes her a split second to be hovering over Quinn, laying a trail of wet kisses down the side of her neck.

“What did you—?” A sharp sigh gets stuck in Quinn’s throat. “What did you tell her?”

Spencer leans in so her mouth is right next to Quinn’s ear.

“That I’m busy.”


End file.
